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Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers |
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Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers |
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92 CHAPTER XXXVIII The Scop chants how Wiglaf, at the dying Beowulf’s bidding, went and fetched all the treasure he could carry and laid it before Beowulf; and how Beowulf, generously thinking of his people to the last, thanked God that he had won them such golden gifts; and how, thinking too of his fame in aftertimes, he gave instructions for a memorial mound on the promontory; and how, in gratitude to his loyal young Kinsman, he gave Wiglaf his collar and war-gear, and passed to his reward among those who had lived righteously on earth. (Here are two questions for us: was Beowulf a Christian? and did Wiglaf become King of the Geats?) Then the son of Weohstan, as I heard tell, Swiftly stirred to wish and word of him whose wound was fell, Of him the battle-sick Man; and under barrow’s roof Took himself and ring-mesh, his woven sark of proof. And then that dauntless Thane-man saw with victor-pride, On passing where his Chieftain sate, store of gems inside: Saw the gold glisten on the ground then, Wonders on the wall there, and the Dragon’s den, Flier old by twilight, of standing jars a sight, Vessels of the men of yore, with none to burnish bright, Bereft of their adornments. Many a helmet old There was lying rusty, and arm-rings of gold, Artfully twisted. (Riches so rare, Such booty in a barrow, may easily ensnare Any one of mankind, hide it whosoe’er.) And also saw he hanging over Hoard on high A banner all golden, wefted cunningly, Of handiwork a wonder. And from it streamed a light, Whereby the cavern’s bottom well perceive he might, And well o’er-count the prizes. But saw not there within Any sign of Serpent-sword had taken him Then, as I heard the story, did one Man alone Reave the Hoard from olden mound, the giants’ work of stone; With beakers and with platters, as his choice would seek, He laded his bosom. He took the banner eke, Brightest of beacons. The old King’s bill O its edge was iron!- a while ago did kill Him who had defended so long the treasure-found, And spread o’ midnights terror-flames, billowing fiercely round, Hot before the Hoard there, until he died of wound. Hastened now the Herald, eager to go back, Spurred by splendor- booty. Him a doubt did rack Whether he, the high-souled, would meet alive once more The Sovran of the Weders, weakened now so sore, There upon the moor-stead where him he’d left before. |
